Danger and Intrigue
by inlemoon
Summary: They took her from her home, but Gerudo she would never be.


_I wrote this some time ago, and finally got around to posting it here instead of tumblr. Some influence from GoT. Enjoy!_

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The chemise was not the traditional white so much as a deep champagne, the brasserie embroidered with golden saltwater pearls, a yellow gem hanging between her breasts like a teardrop. It was skillfully crafted even for Gerudo hands, down to the guipure butterflies on the scalloped hem. They'd foregone ivory for something more flattering, allegedly. _Pale shades,_ the haughty seamstress had said, _make you look even pastier_. And so this was what Zelda wore on her wedding night, shades of daffodil and dandelion instead of bridal white and cream. Gem-studded ropes of precious platinum and gold snaked her wrists and ankles, and her brooch-bejeweled hair was coiffed extravagantly, if too heavily for her slender lily's neck. She was told to wait upon a rich wine-red chaise that was apparently his favorite. She wondered how many other women he'd fucked on it before.

Those closest to him called him _Gan_ while the rest called him _Lord_ , and she wondered which she would be expected to use. _Murderer_ , she knew that would be her preference, and could not help but think of her father, rest his soul. She'd never call him the Gerudo term for _husband_ , a guttural word she could barely pronounce because it stuck to the back of her tongue like the snot from a spring cold that wouldn't clear away. Even if that was what he was to her now.

The door swung open but she didn't turn towards the noise, instead gazing at the ornate thuribles hanging from the low ceiling. She'd always hated incense, even in her own religion's ceremonies; she thought it smelled like musty, moth-filled closets, and it clouded her head until she couldn't breathe.

"You selected your wedding gown," he said, flawless Hyrulean cutting through the smoke like a knife. Yes, she'd been given the luxury of picking her dress, long and heavy satin, embroidered with delicate pearls. Her veil as well, gossamer and beautiful, only lifted when he declared her his wife. She'd sweltered through the entire ceremony as the Gerudo jeered, but somehow managed to keep her mind. Barely.

"I preferred it," he continued in her language, and she remembered again that she'd have to learn his, and quickly. "You _do_ look a sight—"

"No one asked for your preferences," Zelda snapped. He stepped in front of her vision and her gaze shifted inadvertently to his hands, thick and wide and decorated with rubies. She thought of those dark jeweled hands pressing on her body and could not help but attempt to cover her nearly-bared breasts. _I am of the blood of Wisdom. I do not flinch._ She told herself this, but it did not stop the churning in her gut.

"And yet, they are more important than the others, now," he said, and she could feel his eyes on her. "Your own tastes suit you better." He paused. "Stand."

She wanted to retort, but stayed quiet as she stood. She refused to shake under his glare, much as she wished to curl into her body and cry. _I am the blood of Wisdom._ She was but a girl of sixteen and a maiden, at that. She'd laid with no man before. But she was knew of what was to happen, and it sent shivers crawling down her spine.

 _Wisdom is quiet,_ she reminded herself. _But it is strong._

And so she stood before him as he drank in her face, her body. He thought her beautiful, she could tell from the way he tilted his head and tapped a finger once to his lips. And after a time, he extended a hand, and beckoned towards the mirror. She did not take it, but followed him, the scented air hot on her skin.

He pulled a stool from a nearby desk and told her to sit, then touched her shoulder lightly. It was strange and soft and almost startling.

"You do not need this," he said, but she did not respond. _Wisdom knows when to speak, and when to be silent._ Instead, she thought of lush summer grasses and the sound of mountain streams that once flowed behind her childhood summer palace.

He reached down and gently lifted up her hand, and turning it to inspect the rings. He pressed on the sensitive spot between her fingers until they relaxed, then slipped each piece off, slowly, one-by-one, catching each in his palm as he ran the thick pads of his fingers over hers, tracing the gold-painted nails, then back up her arm. After the rings of both hands were removed, he moved to her wrists, sliding each heavy bangle and bracelet off, skimming his hands across her biceps to remove pearl-encrusted cuffs.

Once the jewelry of her arms was removed, he moved behind her, to her hair. He worked deftly, untwisting each curl and braid, pulling and teasing each beaded strand apart. It was gentle and sent a chill through her chest and when he began to remove the heavy brooches, she bit her lip again. It reminded her of when she was young, when her mother would brush her hair, fireplace flickering as they both fell asleep.

She shivered.

"Soft," he said quietly when her eyes fluttered closed before snapping back open, lips tighening at the goosebumps on her arms. He placed each brooch and bauble onto the nearby desk before kneeling in front of her. She clenched her eyes shut.

Something warm settled onto her shoulders, and the heavy scent of the sandalwood oil he used in his air drifted to her nose. _His cloak._ He thought her to be cold, or uncomfortable. He fastened the front button and draped it over her fully, hands hovering over her shoulders in silent question. She swept her eyes up his chest and though he towered over her and his gaze bored down into hers and she was frightened, she was also breathless, and did not shrink away.

"These bracelets hurt," she whispered, hesitantly extending her leg. His brows arched in surprise but he dropped his hand down, his palm so large it nearly engulfed her foot when he cupped the bottom. He carefully removed the toe-rings and ropes of gemstones fastened too tightly around her ankles, a wide finger tracing her calf as a golden buzz coursed through her body.

He pulled away. And after a while, he spoke.

"They tried to make you Gerudo, but you are not." He shifted, sitting cross-legged.

"No," Zelda agreed, "I am not." _I am the child of Wisdom._

He reached up again, twisted a strand of her hair through his fingers, then traced the those thick thumb-pads her cheekbones and ears, as a blush blossomed its way across her skin. Her lips parted, and he ran a finger over the bottom of her mouth, his hair spilling over his shoulder. He wore more trinkets than she, and a grand crown, and they glinted in the fire's light. Her hand extended on instinct, combing through, and she let herself look at him. His eyes were amber, his skin was dark, his hair was inferno-red.

 _Wisdom knows when to lie, and when to act on truth._

She reached forward, and pulled the ruby crown from his head.

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beta'ed by vaegtersang


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